


Safe Space

by Trifoilum



Series: Texting Robert [14]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm using my own dadsona here, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Managing Intrusive Thoughts, Massage, Mental Health Issues, Naked Cuddling, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, anger issues, feel free to ignore this fic if it doesn't suit your headcanon, the feather breaks the camel's back, the old proverb works here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-25 16:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoilum/pseuds/Trifoilum
Summary: Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault.





	1. Cannons

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: anger issues, self-loathing, intrusive thoughts, panic attack, anxiety from the smallest things. See end notes for more explanation.  
> Please take care of yourself and your mind, lovely readers. If you feel reading this would be triggering, I'd rather you don't. Your sanity is more important :)
> 
> Now this feels like a stark contrast to my other fics in this series, so I elected not to use 2nd person PoV and used my own Dadsona instead. Say hi to Franklin Ward!  
> Hopefully this is enough barrier for readers who are imagining their own Dadsona in this.  
> At the same time, you can absolutely use everything I wrote in this series for Franklin.
> 
> If there's anything about anxiety, self-loathing, or anger issues I am writing wrong, by all means, do kindly inform me.

The water is running.

Dishes were clashing messily, punctuated with secret curses whenever a plate accidentally clanked against each other.

Robert was the one observing this time, leaning on the wall with his body tense and arms folded. Alert. Waiting for any kind of movement from his boyfriend. A sickening change. Despite the intense jittering, despite him barely touching dinner at all, the younger man kept forcing himself to wash the dishes and Robert didn’t really get why, at least not after sitting still for literal hours.

He should have interfered back then, or _at least_ offered to wash the dishes, but the older man knew from the way his boyfriend moved that saying anything would only trigger that fight-or-flee switch within him. So there he was. Again. Watching with a rigid tension in his throat. Feeling a war chant angrily beating inside his ears as cannon after cannon were loaded with anger. He was helpless and he hated admitting it.

Ten hours.

Ten hours since the moment Robert saw the thin-lipped smile. Nine and a half since the blank staring. Eight hours since the first time his boyfriend sought a constant stream of distraction. Nothing had improved from then.

Space, silence, and distance failed to help. Clarity failed to come the way they usually would. Now, a leather bound journal was placed beside the kitchen sink, almost an exact copy of his usual one, different only in the frayed edges and the way he frantically scribbled on it at least twenty times. His nails were suddenly trimmed short. If Robert looked closer, he would find bite marks.

Robert’s teeth couldn’t stop gritting with each other. Barely audible screeches, hopefully  unheard in the short distance between them. Betsy barked, and for a glorious few seconds he thought that she would sense what was happening. She would race towards the kitchen and comforted his boyfriend the way she always did with him.

But no. Ten hours and counting and the younger man managed to avoid Betsy’s senses somehow. It must have been the silence, the way he controlled himself as he tried to blend with the background. The younger man had the most beautiful mind and it stood to reason that there were layers to his defense mechanism; this was the first.

And the hunter needed to bypass them somehow before he fired his cannons out of anger.

Just watching it all made the urge to drink rise faster, so he started recanting all the things he did right today. He dumped his clothes into the washer, sorted his bedroom, and took his medications on time. He woke up pretty early and managed to take Betsy for a walk twice. And considering it took him two days to notice what happened the first time—and a whole fucking week of watching his boyfriend suffer quietly—this was practically record time and that was absolutely worth two points if he was keeping counts.

He was keeping counts.

After making sure his cannons were under control and his head was quiet, Robert opened his mouth.

“Franklin.”

His boyfriend jolted in shock and banged the last plate against the sink in accident. He did not turn around.

Robert tensed, his muscle memory recognizing the gesture as something else entirely and almost fled because of it. But he didn’t, thank fuck, and continued speaking. “You’re not alright, aren’t you.”

More silence, and Franklin still hadn’t turned around. Inside Robert’s wasteland of a psyche, another cannon was loaded with ammunition. ~~~~

~~Just what the fuck are you trying to prove by this—~~ “It’s a simple yes or no question, buddy.”

Gently, the younger man placed the last plate in the drying rack. The running tap was twisted close. And then he finally turned and offered what might have been a smile if it wasn’t so. Fucking. _Flat_.

“…Yeah.” Finally. “But it’s not a big deal, Robert.” Ah, shit. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

With a soft thud, Robert butted his head against the wall a few times. The second layer. The deflection. “Tell me, then. Not a big deal, right?”

His boyfriend turned his head away.

“It’s about the message, isn’t it?” Robert spat.

Amanda’s message came so innocuously this noon, as considerate as it was thoughtless. Just five days before summer break, she wanted to change her plans and take a weeklong road trip with some “friends from university” before returning to Maple Bay. Not unreasonable at all, yet Robert couldn’t really blame Franklin for freaking out. After the car accident he himself took quite a lot of liquid assistance before he could drive again.

~~Hell, at least she had the decency to inform her father days before she left, not after.~~

No. ~~Amanda was not Val~~. It was not her fault, either Amanda or Val.

~~It was his.~~

Every second with this helplessness was a second his demons used to spread desolation inside his head. And he was not strong enough, not stable enough to endure every pangs of guilt punching through his guts. That weakness brought vivid images of how easy it was to simply drown everything under a haze of golden.

“Talk to me, Franklin,” he begged, ~~because clearly he was so weak he had to bother his already suffering boyfriend.~~ “ _Please_.”

Suddenly, as if a robot under command, Franklin _moved_ and rushed past Robert.

The hunter reached for his boyfriend’s hand, wrist, anything.

At the same time he caught a glimpse of distraught eyes, _threatened_ , the hand was slapped away.

“What the _fuck_ , Franklin?”

In reflex, the cannons started aiming their crosshair. Somewhere, something dark laughed deep inside him, satisfied. ~~~~

But before they could be fired, Robert heard a gasp.

The younger man suddenly clutched his chest, breath shattering into shallow little intakes. His teeth started to clatter and Robert _immediately_ moved and pulled him tight into his arms. He was _freezing_. “Buddy. Buddy.”

Franklin was clawing his own palms, not budging despite how hard Robert tried to pry. The answer came in jagged whimpers. “I’m—I’m sorry, I’m just a little overwhelmed. It’ll pass soon, so—“

 _Panic attack_. ~~He always breaks everything, always—~~ “No. Don’t speak. It’s okay. I’m—Fuck, I’m sorry for yelling at you.” ~~~~

“No, no, it’ll go away, you don’t have to do this—“

“’s okay, bud, just breathe. Please, tell me how to help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” reassured ~~—argued—~~ Robert, ~~which was really not the time~~. “Please, just, tell me.”

“Stay with me for a little while?” whispered Franklin as if he was making a wish. “It’s a complete nonsense, I know, and I’m sorry, but it’d be really helpful if you can just stay for a while—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Franklin. Keep breathing.”

He did, making a series of labored heaving, and _thank fuck_ that caught Betsy’s attention. Before long her footsteps arrived fast as today’s hero frantically yipped, sniffing them both before trying to climb their legs.

“I’m here. Betsy’s here. We’re not going anywhere. We love you. _I_ love you. Breathe.”

Franklin whimpered and pressed his face onto Robert’s shirt, clutching the ragged thin fabric like it was his only lifeline. “Thanks. I’m so sorry, I should have been used to it by now—“

“Sssh, don’t apologize, bud; it’s okay. I’m not angry at you. There’s nothing to apologize. It’s okay.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will. We’ll make it okay,” said Robert repeatedly, giving no space to doubt, ignoring the way his heart ripped itself apart.

Trying, and failing, to ignore the way his demons blamed himself for this.

======

After a short eternity, the worst of the trembling stopped.

Robert’s demons did not.

The two of them somehow moved into their bedroom with Betsy constantly walking from the left side of the bed to the right, ears alert as she nudged the two men with her nose every now and then. Despite how the air conditioner was set to the coldest, one window was opened wide. Hints of grass and cherry blossom that had long scattered slipped with the supposedly-spring wind. The room was only lit by whatever lights were present outside.

They were now on bed wearing only their boxers, with the hunter straddling over his boyfriend in a very different context than usual. Franklin’s breaths had long stopped being labored, but they were still quick and shallow.

Robert leaned closer and pushed the sharp of his elbow all over his boyfriend’s back.

“Is it here?” he asked, voice wavering while keeping his ears attuned to any sounds of discomfort. Right now, if he looked at Franklin, the hunter would have found him staring at the Massachusetts sky and the glimmering sea of stars sprinkled outside. But he didn’t, because just imagining his boyfriend’s lack of focus or how his already fair skin turned even paler would only refill the cannons inside.

~~Or maybe he just didn’t care.~~

“A—ah. Right there, yeah,” whimpered Franklin, in a held back, ~~ragged, would have drove his blood down south~~ kind of moan as a reply, so at least it wasn’t a shit job.

~~Or maybe he was just deluding himself.~~

Blindly following his instinct, Robert moved in little circles, going up to the curve between his boyfriend’s neck and shoulders and then heading down right into the small of his back. Every now and then he would carefully increase the pressure.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Robert had heard the term knot used to described tension and soreness in one’s body, maybe in some travel show or another. Fuck if he knew. He never had a massage, never gave any, but Franklin weakly asked for one and in terms of knots, right now his body was practically a masterclass in advanced _shibari_.

Everything was unusual for the hunter, whose form of self-care was still influenced by old masculinity standards. If fucking, whittling, or sleeping whatever had been plaguing him off didn’t work, then it was time to drink himself to sweet oblivion. None of these elaborate settings ~~because how does a piece of shit like him deserve anything like this?~~

Nevertheless, now Robert kept digging his elbow again and again until droplets of sweat began dripping down his chin, switching sides when his own muscles started to groan with soreness.

And yet, he didn’t feel any of these knots relaxing at all. ~~What a fucking shit of a massage.~~ ~~Even some sad victims of human trafficking could do a better job than this.~~ ~~Maybe Franklin should just go there. They clearly deserve his understanding and kindness more than this pathetic piece of—~~

“Robert?”

Franklin’s voice jolted him back to reality and Robert realized that not only had he stopped moving, his boyfriend was looking at him, head turned to the side.

“Are you…alright?” asked the younger man. Sounding so brittle, and yet still so worried.

 “Yeah—yeah,” muttered Robert, struggling to inflect a positive emotion. ~~See? What exactly are you adding to his life?~~ “Sorry, I’ll keep going—“ ~~~~

“We can stop if you’re tired—“

“No!” Robert flinched back as if his words were fire, and Betsy barked. “I can—I can take care of you. I will. Don’t you worry none.”

The younger man closed his eye and took a deep, strained breath. Robert’s stomach dropped in a sudden freefall.

“Can I ask something quick?” Franklin asked, before opening his eyes again and fixed them at the hunter.

  ~~I can’t do this anymore, you’re just a mess, this is a mistake—~~

“Whatever your inner critic is saying, I assure you it holds nothing compared to what’s being said in _my_ head.”

Robert’s mind froze out of shock.

Under the dim light, there was no trace of disgust or hatred on Franklin’s face. Just exhaustion and a pained look Robert suspected was also present in his own face. “Am I…correct in that your inner critic is also plaguing you?”

 _Inner critic_ , as if it was a stodgy downer with a cheap suit and discount perfume. Robert let a bitter chuckle, nodded, and his boyfriend tried to smile again.

“I want a massage, yes, but I want you here more than that, so… can we please just admit their existence for now and stick with each other?”

It…

It made perfect sense.

And since sensible words were _really_ in a short supply right now, Robert clung to them like the sad, lonely child he had been an eternity ago. He slowly reached out for his boyfriend’s hand and found out, to his surprise, that his fingers were no longer clawing the palms. There were drying scabs, though.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“And I, as well,” replied Franklin, twisting a bit until he managed to turn around completely. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to bother you that much”

“And _I_ thought you didn’t want me to help you.”

“Oh, God,” groaned the younger man while carding his free hand through his short, cropped hair; pale blonde turned completely white in what had been self-depreciatingly referred as his trauma hair. “What a mess. I’m such a mess.”

“ _We_ are both hot messes, buddy. Scalding, if you really want to go there.”

“Oh, fair.” Franklin shook his head, but he was smiling and it was impossible for the older man to not return the smile back. Before Robert could even properly climb off Franklin pulled him down until he was lying on top, wrapped in a tight hold, his bigger body partially covering the younger man. “But also, my rational mind would like to argue that both of us do get better, so. Please stay?”

Robert tried and failed to contain that stream of joy inside him, bursting free like he just struck gold. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, absolutely not. But—“Sure there’s no one better to deal with this?”

There was a short pause. “Later, yes, but right now I just want my loved ones with me.”

“You mean Amanda.”

Franklin reached for a box of tissue and wiped the sweat all over their face. “I mean you and Amanda and Val and this good girl over there, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Betsy had stopped wandering and knelt on the floor beside N.K. Jemisin’s _The Stone Sky._ Despite knowing that she was still perfectly alert and would remain so for at least another two hours, Robert couldn’t help feeling that this might have been a bit of a relief for her, not being alone as she used to be. It certainly was a relief for him.

Franklin waved for the dog to come over and she practically leaped onto the bed, nuzzling close and giving her humans sloppy, wet kisses that made the younger man laugh. The queen bed could barely hold two adult men and their dog at the same time, but from the way Franklin wrapped his arms tight around him, this might have been the perfect scenario for the younger man. The three of them bundled around the old blanket, safe and protected against the world for however short it might be.

Everything culminated into one simple truth: Robert, in all his failures, may be the only remaining tether for the man that helped him build everything good in his life right now. A safe space.

Like the climax of a disaster movie, countless what-ifs and if-onlys of his past rushed free from the walled fortress that was his heart, joining all those meaningless save-the-wife scenarios he used to make after the accident. Together, they wiped the entire wasteland clean with a white-hot radiance.

There was no way he would fuck this up again. No way could he leave his boyfriend here.

No.

No fucking way.

**ABSOLUTELY NOT.**

======

Enough time had passed for Robert to wonder if Franklin’s okay with him so heavy on top. The worry felt metaphorical.

Carefully, he slid off the younger man and spooned him from the side. Franklin silently pulled him closer, burying his face onto the short hairs of Robert’s naked chest, awake with his eyes closed.

With the way things were, it would be one of those sleepless nights for the two of them. And that was fine. Everything still needed to unfold; the rest of Franklin’s complicated layers of defense were not his to bypass and all the hunter could do was to meet his boyfriend in the middle whenever that moment would arrive.

He was staying, would always stay, and that meant unfucking his head.

~~It was not his fault. It was not Franklin’s fault. It was not Amanda’s fault. It was not Val’s fault. It was not his fault. It was not—~~

_Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault._

Robert’s therapist sure liked her damn platitudes, but they were simple and that was precisely why they could find a place within the hunter’s jaded mind to latch onto. And he latched to these words, latched to his boyfriend.

Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault.

Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault.

Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault.

The phrase repeated again and again, and at first the hunter thought they will remain like this until dawn, but then the younger man spoke.

“Thank you.”

Robert glanced down. Franklin hadn’t looked up, still technically speaking to his chest. Behind him, Betsy’s ears perked up.

“For taking it really well. For taking care of me.”

It meant there had been times where someone didn’t take his anxiety attacks well, and an indignant streak flared from within Robert’s very core. _~~How fucking dare—~~_

Robert unclenched his teeth. “And I should say the same, bud. How are you feeling?”

The younger man opened his mouth.

“You don’t have to say everything’s alright if it’s not.”

Franklin closed his mouth, and slid back a bit. Opened it again. His fingers start fiddling with the blanket as he spoke with a thin, but firm voice. “Slightly better.”

Oh, thank _fuck_ , an answer.

And better yet, he continued speaking. “It’s been a while, but I’ve been in worse places, and my sanity’s gratitude is reserved for you, Robert.”

“I’ll throw your own words back and say that you’re the one doing the hard lifting, but my fragile ego will thank you for the generosity.” Robert softly kissed his temple. “Nothing’s bad with feeling bad, yeah? No need for more dick measuring contest now.”

His boyfriend snorted.

“You know I like your dick either way.”

The snort broke into a partial hiccup, undignified and beautiful, and the room started to come alive. Franklin clamped his teeth and swallowed the sound that tried to escape him. Words were always his specialty—he even built a damn career out of it—but a life built in stories also brought with it the bitter awareness of all the ways they deceive and so far only Craig managed to bypass that distrust, the living sunshine.

Robert, however? He was good at _goading_. “It’s a good dick. Perfect. Definitely deserved all the care it could get, y’know.”

“God, Robert, stop.” Seeds of a laughter began to grow.

“Hey, I like big dicks and I cannot lie. Or, since we’re bringing that damned song, we can use butts if you want to. Absolutely more inclusive that way.”

Franklin smacked Robert’s chest, and giggled like a broken phonogram. “Oh Lord. What a bad, awful, no good metaphor you’re making.”

“Do you get the point?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s just—it’s stupid. I mean, I’m being stupid.”

It meant something to Robert that the statement failed to provoke his cannons, but he couldn’t spare any fucks right now. Instead he asked, “What’s stupid?”

“Everything. And it’s not like I can do anything about it.”

“It?”

“Amanda’s an adult and she’s capable of making her own life choices. It’s not her fault that we still live in a misogynistic world, but what can I do about _that_ either?”

There were lots of blanks here. But Robert supposed all the context was there inside his boyfriend’s pretty head.

“Maybe in the long term, yes, with votes and everything, but in the short term? In the one week she’s enjoying herself? I must trust her judgment over my fears. And I try to. And yet, with the way the news are—“

Here, Robert mentally praised himself for refraining to let out an annoyed sigh. The world _is_ going to hell in a handbasket; why the need to know exactly how?

“—and yes, I know it’s stupid. This is nothing but confirmation bias; there are probably thousands of road trips happening everyday without any problems,” Franklin finished. “And yet—“

Robert brushed his unshaven cheek onto Franklin’s shoulder, making him squirm. It was super effective against his wandering thoughts, and now was the perfect time to abuse it. “You know you can always tell her not to go?” he said.

“What? No!” said Franklin abruptly before he looked away.

“And why’s that?”

In fact, he had a mind to call her. ~~Maybe raise his voice a bit, to make her know just how broken she had made her father and—~~

Sometimes awful things happened without anyone at fault.

After a long consideration, Franklin finally began to explain. “……I don’t want to. It’s her life, her chance to experience freedom and independence. I don’t want to disturb her.”

Ah, the next layer. It sounded similar to the second layer— _I’m sorry, I’m just a little overwhelmed. It’ll pass soon, so_ —except this felt less like a barrier and more like a reason, an internal logic that must have been more sensible inside. Questioning that required gentleness as much as intimacy, empathy as much as personal knowledge, and Robert was never that capable in any of them. But it was a gamble he had to take.

So he resorted to goading, once again. “Who says we have to _disturb_ her?”

Franklin’s troubled expression gave way to confusion.

With a jolt, Robert propped his head up on an elbow. “Gotta have a roadtrip of our own, buddy.”

“What.”

Robert’s next words came with an easy grin. “You and me and Betsy, with our fedoras and trenchcoats—“

“You don’t have any trenchcoats!”

“You have not seen me in one—big difference. Anyway, we’re gonna lurk behind her, peeking from a wall, and keep her away from _unsavory characters_. Perfection.”

“Robert!”

“I’m not kidding,” said the hunter, staring, being one hundred percent serious. In fact he probably should just start packing right this moment. Not like either of them would sleep anytime soon.

But his boyfriend needed him, so Robert stayed. “That sounds like a really bad sitcom,” returned Franklin with a sniffle, burying his face on Robert’s chest. “But thanks for the offer.”

“You don’t oughta answer it right away, bud. Still got a few days to pack our bags.”

“I think there are ways to occupy myself for the next few days without being Pink Panther.”

“Bore.”

“Thank you.”

Silence began to enter the room once again, carrying much less weight than before. Betsy had closed her eyes; give or take half an hour and she’d start snoring. Faint buzzing could be heard roaming around the room, and Robert should probably close the door before more bugs sneaked inside the room. Instead, he tightened the blanket around them. He pressed his lips on Franklin’s flower-scented hair and gave the back of his neck a soft massage.

“Buddy,” he said gently. “What’s that breathing exercise you usually do? Can you do that for me?”

“Oh. Um.” Franklin took a few deep breaths, as if testing if he was physically capable of doing that, then tilted his head up in a wordless plea.

Robert’s face was probably looking sappy as shit, but he didn’t really care. Chalk it to the safety of the darkness. “Want me to guide you?”

Franklin nodded.

“A’ight.” A few seconds passed in solitude before he start speaking. “Inhale.”

A drag of air signaled the beginning of the sequence.

Two. Three. Four.

Hold.

Five. Six. Seven.

“Release.”

Hot puffs of air began hitting Robert’s neck, and he followed along the next sequence, forcing his body to release the remaining tension one by one. Steadily, their breathing got longer, slightly softer, enough to temporarily dull the most burning of the ugly feelings.

Inhale. Two. Three. Four.

Hold.

Five. Six. Seven.

Release.

Robert updated the list he made before, the things he did right today. He dumped his clothes into the washer, sorted his bedroom, and took his medications on time. He woke up pretty early and managed to take Betsy for a walk twice. And considering it took him two days to notice what happened the first time—and a whole fucking week of watching his boyfriend suffer quietly—this was practically record time and that was absolutely worth two points if he was keeping counts.

He gave someone a massage for the very first time. He didn’t take a single drop of alcohol inside his body.

And lastly, he didn’t fire any of his cannons. He stayed.

By now it was clear his cannons were still inside him, loaded full of bitter resentment. It would take a lot more before disarmament could be considered, much less dismantling, but firing them was a choice he could always elect not to take.

No, not could. Had. He had to make these choices, again and again from the moment he embarked on this path.

Only hours later, as the sun began to rise, would Robert realize it was getting easier for him to make that choice, just as he realized there had been a stark absence of tears from his boyfriend this whole time. Franklin might be correct; they were getting better. Had been getting better. Would continue to get better.

But they all would arrive later.

Right now, Robert repeated the list once again before forcing his mind to draft an entirely new list; of all the things they could do tomorrow, no, later, followed by a long list of names to call if things failed to improve. Craig started that particular list. Joseph ended it. If Joseph could help his boyfriend, Robert would go over there right now and _beg_.

Right now, he had to unfuck himself up. An absolute torture compared to what he was used to, but Robert didn’t mind. Thank fuck now he wasn’t so lost as before.

Right now, he couldn’t feel anything else but Franklin beside him, fighting his own demons alone, but together.

Right now, Robert kept breathing.


	2. Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts. Plot bunny gnawed. Despite everything, I think this is quite an improvement.
> 
> CW: Anxiety, implications of self harm, thoughts about mortality. There is one whole section referring to real life events related to America and if you do not wish to read them, skip the whole second section (from "asking for too many details." to "in a matter of seconds.") See end note for more.
> 
> I worry about writing this chapter, because not only does it bring reality to the blissful world of Dream Daddy, I'm also very far from a liberal cis white American middle-aged father with a biracial daughter. What I wrote will most likely be inadequate to describe the anxiety one might feel in modern America, and for that I apologize, but at least I hope it is not offending those sharing closer backgrounds to Franklin and Amanda.

Whenever Franklin was trapped in this phase, time always moved in such an inconsistent rhythm. He was immensely grateful this time it erred to acceleration.

Soothing melodies and nature sounds from the writer’s laptop were mingling with the summer rain outside. Words were flowing with an ignored lack of grace; his usual word count had been broken five times over, but if he was to be honest everything just felt like a wave of diarrhea. Restructuring and fact-checking until every sentence reached his usual standards would obliterate at least half of everything, purge and condense the rest. Maybe he would left about five percent untouched, ten if he was incredibly lucky.

Times like these always stripped his cadence and structure until everything was made stilted. Plots went without any direction, meanings were lost, and characters always seemed like they were talking to _him_ as opposed to each other. Sure, fine; all of these were no longer things he moaned about. Forget escapism or building an illusion of control from ruling over a fictional world; as long as he could drag his focus away onto something else beyond his anxiety then Franklin had honestly fulfilled his target. If the object of attention had no way to complaint or be hurt from bad performance, then it would be even better, right?

Franklin didn’t ever wish to comment on the way other people’s muse sang to them, but his never did whenever he was under duress.

The rain had been buzzing intensely for a while and a vague soreness started to throb on both shoulders. Thinking about the massage he received a few days ago only amplified his worries about Robert, enough to break his ongoing rhythm. His lover had been taking Betsy for a walk when the sun was still up in the sky; an ordinary little fact that nevertheless gnawed the writer’s mind with ruthless unpleasantness. If dissected, that unpleasantness would shatter into many:

From little worries (did he get drenched? Is it time to prepare a towel?),

Hysterical fears (car crashes, emergency room _, not another loss—_ ),

To irrational paranoia sneaking their way past his lowered mental defenses (was this an act of punishment? Was he cheating?).

Therefore, it stayed ambiguous.

_To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float._

Closing his eyes, Franklin let himself float and instead imagined Robert’s callused hands brushing on his hair, the tenderness in his kiss before he left, Betsy’s happy barks before the truck started rumbling. Beside the laptop, one of Franklin’s ancient mugs was within reach, yellow and chipped and filled halfway with _sencha_ that still retained some of its initial warmth. A note was plastered on the side of the mug, with a little picture of a cup at the bottom that didn’t even look like the actual mug.

_taking Betsy out for a walk, in case u forgot. drink ur tea! – R._

The writer took a sip, faintly smiling from how nauseatingly sweet the green tea was, and remembered why he left the tea halfway. He got up from the bed of pillows cushioning him on the floor and headed to the kitchen, adding hot water and two slices of lemon into the mug. For a few days a sleeping pill was added to the equation, but today might be a good day to stop.

Walking back to his living room table, Franklin put the mug back and picked up his smartphone. A wooden flip case was covering its too-fragile body, one Robert handcrafted for his birthday. People had messaged him—he saw the notifications from his laptop—but none of them were Amanda. Her classes had been over and summer break had officially begun at 12 PM today. If everything went according to plan then she would already be on the road at this moment.

Franklin closed his eyes and tried not to wonder if he had made the right choice on not asking for too many details.

======

Amanda’s so-called adventuring party consisted of two boys and four girls of various ethnicities, including herself. One boy is gay, one girl is trans, and no one were hooking up or crushing with each other as far as Amanda knew—the only curiosity Franklin allowed himself to ask. They had a plan to meet Emma P. in the middle of the trip, and according to Amanda they were all ‘ _feminist as frick_ ’ as if being a feminist absolved everyone from being a risk factor.

Not that Amanda was ever that naïve. But she did grow in a middle class environment, victims of her parents’ lack of prescience and complacency, and Franklin still cursed himself for not knowing any better.

Dark clouds of 9/11 and the War on Terror loomed over Amanda’s birth, yes, but both Alex and Franklin thought the worst of their struggle for civil rights had been over and it was time to fight for those they lost in the AIDS crisis, time to fight for the kids trapped in their closets. Be the hero they couldn’t be when they were young. And they thought the best they can do for Amanda is to teach her tolerance.

Never had they thought she needed to learn how to stay alive in her country and by then it was just Franklin and Amanda. Trayvon Martin was still alive when Alex was taken away from them. Sandy Hook happened right at the sixth anniversary and Franklin pinched himself hard before he summoned the ghosts from that moment.

He made sure he didn’t use his fingernails. They had already grown a bit.

Despite the many logical reasons to neuter his anxiety—so many Franklin actually made a list during the video conference with his pre-Maple Bay therapist—one particular thought still lingered, slick and dangerous, floating on the surface of his mind like an oil spill ready to explode.

He could have prevented _everything_ if he just did something.

Except, again, everything in this case involved a persisting rape culture, gun culture, a broken law enforcement focused on protecting their own, and a biased justice that never really favored women much less a young woman of color. And regardless of everything he did and didn’t get to do, some things could never be fully taught by a cis white male like Franklin. Some things were way too visceral in the way they engaged all five senses, way too personal to be told in a detached language. Words could only describe them blindly, painting a fragmented picture with fragmented pieces.

Like all of these.

There are just things he would never fully understand despite being half of Amanda’s DNA, despite his job involving telling stories from many perspectives not his own and a history of engaging in civil rights struggle, despite a lifetime together with people of color like Alex and Robert.

But still, he could have done something. Something _more_. By extension that also implied the idea of something _bad_ waiting to happen if he failed to do whatever that something more was.

An endless loop from the moment he received Amanda's message, all happening in a matter of seconds.

======

Franklin breathed and breathed and breathed before he finally opened his eyes, flipped the cover open, and unlocked his smartphone.

He noticed the array of unread messages waiting for him. Joseph, Mat, Brian; Craig was sending a TED Talk on space exploration, one of the constant streams of distraction since the first moment Franklin reached out to him. His fellow writers were talking about some convention or another; they could all wait. Robert had sent him a message timed around one and a half hour ago.

> **Robert:** well shit
> 
> **Robert:** picked the worst time ever for a walk

The older man took a selfie of himself, deeply frowning with floppy hair covering parts of his eyes and bright flash making his swarthy complexion pale. It was followed by a picture of some soaking wet, brownish creature the size of Betsy on a leash.

> **Robert:** guess who the fuck decided some shitass mud hole was a hiding place for something
> 
> **Robert:** guess
> 
> **Robert:** hint it’s not me
> 
> **Robert:** if she wanna play with water then im gonna give her lots
> 
> **Robert:** lots, lots more
> 
> **Robert:** but still gonna stay here for a sec
> 
> **Robert:** taking shelter
> 
> **Robert:** gd luck w the writing k
> 
> **Robert:** show me the result later
> 
> **Robert:** love u

A shot of Betsy’s face followed, looking so guilty with her huge eyes.

> **Robert:** she loves u too
> 
> **You:** Are you on your way home? And thanks for tea, by the way.  

Robert’s reply came within the next minute.

> **Robert:** whoa
> 
> **Robert:** r u done
> 
> **Robert:** r u ok
> 
> **You:** Yeah. It’s just that ~~I freaked out at your absence~~ I miss you, if that makes sense?
> 
> **You:** …Sorry. Where are you?
> 
> **Robert:** no not going home yet
> 
> **Robert:** but wait why the sorry
> 
> **You:** The moment I sent it, I realized how clingy that sounds.
> 
> **Robert:** no ass comparison bud
> 
> **You:** Well, your ass is much larger than mine, so there’s really nothing to compare.
> 
> **Robert:** whoa
> 
> **Robert:** holy shit
> 
> **Robert:** is that a banter im seeing??????
> 
> **Robert:** reading
> 
> **Robert:** whatever
> 
> **Robert:** is that a fucking banter???
> 
> **You:** …If you made any more remarks about that I might do something bad to those nice glutes?
> 
> **Robert:** holy shit my boyfriend is flirting w me
> 
> **Robert:** r u rly ok
> 
> **Robert:** like
> 
> **Robert:** seriously ok
> 
> **You:** I……want to text Amanda.
> 
> **Robert:** k
> 
> **Robert:** so why r u talking w me
> 
> **Robert:** not complaining but why
> 
> **You:** I ….shouldn’t?
> 
> **Robert:** and why is that
> 
> **You:** Because it’s going to disturb her and I just messaged her this noon?
> 
> **Robert:** buddy
> 
> **Robert:** whenever possible do not follow past robert
> 
> **Robert:** do not ever
> 
> **Robert:** do u rly think past robert is a good judge of anything
> 
> **Robert:** ANYTHING?????
> 
> **Robert:** Look. It’s okay to worry about your only daughter. It’s okay to message her. She can choose not to reply if she doesn’t want to. It’s better than the alternative, trust me.
> 
> **You:** Whoa, Proper Grammar came out.
> 
> **Robert:** that’s right
> 
> **Robert:** and if u kept delaying things I might sic val on u
> 
> **Robert:** and call amanda myself
> 
> **Robert:** just call her bud
> 
> **Robert:** or text her
> 
> **Robert:** anything
> 
> **You:** …..Okay. Thanks for being a voice of reason.
> 
> **You:** Call me when you head back. I’ll get the bath tub ready for Betsy.
> 
> **Robert:** just the damn dog??????
> 
> **You:** I’m thinking of showering together after that.
> 
> **You:** Honestly? I miss touching you.
> 
> **Robert:** u
> 
> **Robert:** fuckin
> 
> **Robert:** tease
> 
> **Robert:** im hard right now and theres nothing I can do bout it u fucker
> 
> **You:** Stay safe over there. Wish me luck.

Franklin breathed for a few cycles and leaned back into the sofa, resting his head on the cushion as he switched to Amanda’s conversation window. Fingers were moving very slowly.

> **You:** Soooooo is it a good time to check in?

He closed his eyes. Dropped the gadget on the sofa.

Then scrambled right back to it when Amanda’s special ringtone buzzed.

> **Manda Panda:** Heeey, daddio. Finished writing?
> 
> **You:** …Who told you?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Betsy.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** …It’s a secret but we actually share a telepathic mind link.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** That’s why she’s such a lovely girl. I controlled her.

So Robert had texted her.

> **You:** You have a telepathic mind link with all dogs, daughter of mine
> 
> **Manda Panda:** And that’s how I’m gonna rule the world, dad of mine
> 
> **Manda Panda:** There will be no secrets kept hidden from the eyes and ears of whatever my supervillain name is going to be
> 
> **Manda Panda:** M W A H A H A
> 
> **You:** …is this another meme?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** M W A A H A H A H A
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Aaanyway.  

Her next message was a single group selfie of all participants in the road trip, taken during sunset with Amanda wielding the selfie stick at the center, looking so carefree and grown up under the summer sun.

> **You:** You look so absolutely beautiful, Panda.
> 
> **You:** Your mother would be proud.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** No, mom will be proud if I kick down the patriarchy, please stop lying to me
> 
> **Manda Panda:** But I do look good. We all do! All hail summer break, seriously.  
> 
> **You:** All hail summer break. It’s one of the few constants in life, daughter dear.
> 
> **You:** And if we’re calling out each other’s lies then I also need to call out yours
> 
> **Manda Panda:** And why is that, father dear?  
> 
> **You:** Because I’m actually hiding behind you, with Betsy on tow.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** …Dad, I’m in the restroom.
> 
> **You:** Oh.
> 
> **You:** Well, then we’re behind the restroom.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** But I’m actually not inside a restroom!
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Or any kind of room at all!

She sent a selfie of her playfully jutting her tongue, this time in the dark, while being practically shoulder-to-shoulder inside an old Jeep. The kind of car Alex would drive long time ago.

> **Manda Panda:** M WAAAA HA HA HA H A H A HA
> 
> **You:** Drats.
> 
> **You:** Alright then, have fun!
> 
> **You:** ~~Please let me worry about you.~~
> 
> **You:** ~~Spare your dad’s heart and don’t forget to call.~~
> 
> **You:** ~~If you need me to check up on you~~ Take care of yourself and don’t forget to hydrate often!
> 
> **You:** Wear your sunscreen! Do remember that dark-skinned people aren’t free from sunburn. You’re just gonna look less like a tomato compared to your poor dad.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Yes, Daddio.

Franklin closed the conversation window, stilled, then opened it once again.

> **You:** Can you do your poor dad a little bit of favor and let me disturb you every once in a while?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Sure, dad! Just call if you’re worried
> 
> **You:** …Really?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Weeeeeeeeeelll maybe not 24/7, and I won’t promise I’ll pick up every single time you call, but
> 
> **Manda Panda:** It’s not like I’m planning to do something immoral
> 
> **You:** Don’t tempt fate, Panda
> 
> **You:** I mean

Despite his best attempts, Franklin ultimately failed to write anything more.

> **Manda Panda:** Well..yeah
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Can I be honest and a little bit grim?
> 
> **You:** …By all means, dear, shoot.
> 
> **You:** pun not intended I SWEAR
> 
> **Manda Panda:** LOL but honestly dad, if I’m going to be another hashtag, I’d rather it happen while doing what I love and surrounded by the people I love rather than living with the exact opposite, you know?
> 
> **You:** …Panda, I honestly don’t know what to say, except that you might win the most fatalistic use of DWYL principle ever.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** What, like that phrase hasn’t been depressing before?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** I got intern stories to tell you, dad
> 
> **You:** Please tell them when you get home.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** I will! But also, not living feels like letting the bastards win, no?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Just staying afraid, wilting away without fighting until death… Yeaaaaah that’s really what they wanted.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** nolite te bastardes carborundorum, yo.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** It’s tiring, Dad. Living under a state of emergency like this.
> 
> **You:** I know. I hear you. I do believe everyone is tired, even those on the opposite side.
> 
> **You:** It’s just—God, we should have been the only generation who suffered.
> 
> **You:** What me and your mother had been through shouldn’t happen to you anymore, and yet
> 
> **You:** Have we taught you enough?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Dad, if you taught me more than you already did, do you know who I’ll end up being?
> 
> **Manda Panda:** Ernest. Hemingway. Vega.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** It’s all for the best, daddi-o. Besides it’s the fate of mankind to repeat our mistakes and never learn from it
> 
> **Manda Panda:** It’s a feature of humanity and there’s no upgrade for it, so buckle up.
> 
> **You:** Oh God, you’re getting my cynicism.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** OH MY GOD NO
> 
> **You:** Don’t fight the feeling, Panda. Be a Ward you were destined to be.
> 
> **Manda Panda:** NO DAD NO
> 
> **Manda Panda:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> **Manda Panda:** THAT’S IT I’M OUT HAVE A NICE EVENING DAD LOVE YOU MWAH
> 
> **You:** Love you too, Panda.

Franklin was chuckling by the end of it, and the feeling wouldn’t last, not until Amanda truly arrived in Maple Bay, but right now a weight was lifted from his chest and it was sweet salvation.

However, what really made the writer smile was the moment when he looked at the messenger and saw that Robert had written another reply.

> **Robert:** u dont need luck. u got each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other than Franklin dealing with his anxiety, there is a little section when Amanda mused about the worst case scenario a.k.a if something happens to her (authorial veto: NEVER). Also the whole second section talks about how Franklin _might_ have failed his daughter, as a cis white father to a biracial daughter. Trayvon Martin and Sandy Hook is mentioned there, as well as 9/11 and America's War on Terror.
> 
> Lastly, there is this sentence that may allude to a history of self-harm: "Franklin pinched himself hard before he summoned the ghosts from that moment. He made sure he didn’t use his fingernails. They had already grown a bit."
> 
> ====
> 
>  
> 
> [“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.”](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/172065-to-have-faith-is-to-trust-yourself-to-the-water)
> 
>  
> 
> [“Nolite te bastardes carborundorum”](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/404835-nolite-te-bastardes-carborundorum-don-t-let-the-bastards-grind-you)
> 
> [DWYL](https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2015/08/do-what-you-love-work-myth-culture/399599/)
> 
> Both Franklin and Alex were pretty politically active during their youth, especially Alex. Franklin still couldn't believe everything still unfolded as it is after all they had done.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Amanda wants to go to a road trip and the news-aware Franklin (my Dadsona) freaked out, and _that_ in turn is doing ugly things to Robert's sanity. It gets better. There are lots of self-loathing from Robert's side, though, and he kind of wants to lash at Franklin, but he _only_ snapped once. Again, everything gets better.
> 
> =====
> 
> And there we have it. *lies flat on the floor*  
> This fic happens because of a few reasons: 
> 
> First, I had always wanted to write a fic about Robert properly comforting Dadsona.  
> Second, I had a little anxiety attack about this very topic. My family was heading to a trip I chose not to go and my anxiety flared for a few hours, worrying about things. I wrote the prototype for this to calm myself down. But when applied to Dadsona, and his background (as any Americans living in 2018 can attest)....Well, things kind of exploded.  
> Third, I wanted to explore Robert's psychological issues.
> 
> This kind of serves as a mirror to [Faulty Wiring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316162/chapters/33033744), and it's quite interesting to compare the two of them.  
> If anyone wants it, I *might* write an epilogue? Talk about how things are after that?


End file.
